


kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, F/M, Just two people in love, Missing Scene, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 15:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: She stares up at him for a moment, swiping her hand beneath her eyes to wipe away the freshly-fallen tears. Then she pulls both hands from his, and he watches her fingers dip to unbutton her jeans, lowering the zip with a soft sound that seems to echo, pushing them down over her hips. “Wanda-”“Just be with me,” she says softly, and takes his face between her hands, gazing up at him and shortening his breath. “Be close to me. Let us have this.”





	kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight

**A/N:** Just a missing IW moment that I've kept as just headcanon for a while. Hope everyone likes this angsty smut.

* * *

She leaves the room, her hair a flicker of flame against the white walls, but he can’t follow. Not while Rhodes is still staring at him, the wound in his side that glows between his fingers, and they’re starting to plan around him. To take him to Wakanda. To make some crazy attempt to save him when they all know the best solution.

“You don’t need to be here, Vision,” Rogers says sharply, in a tone that makes it clear he should leave. “Go rest up while we plan.”

He’s limping, would be intrigued by the way his body sways if it didn’t hurt so badly, and he has to use the wall for support, a hand clasped to his side. Wondering what sort of alien technology has cut him so he can’t heal, the ache that jars through his head from multiple attacks on the mind stone, and the terrible dull pain in his chest remembering how Wanda looked at him when he asked her to destroy the stone. Like she was disappointed. Like he betrayed her.

When he pushes the door to his room open, Wanda is cross-legged on the bed, her hair falling over her face, and a book open in her lap. One of his books, an intricately-illustrated book of Greek myths, that he used to read to her when she crept into his room unable to sleep after a nightmare, and she’s running her fingers gently over each brightly-rendered drawing, and he hears the way her breath shudders. Recognises it as a signal she’s about to cry.

“Wanda,” he says softly, and her head jerks around to look at him, and her eyes are bright with tears. The cut over her eyes is still weeping blood, caught in her eyebrows, and he hates seeing her hurt. It’s his fault, she was defending him, he put her in harm’s way. The guilt is crushing, cloying, a terrible hot weight at the back of his mind. “You should join the others. Plan.”

“Stop pretending this is just another mission,” she snaps, slamming the book shut and tossing it to the floor, turning to face him. “We’re trying to save your life.”

“I’m not worth this,” he says, and she glances away from him, and he watches a jewel of a tear spill down her cheek. “Please don’t cry. Not for me.”

“You’re asking me to do something I won’t do,” she says sharply. “I won’t destroy the stone, Vision. Not if it takes you with it.”

“But it would save billions of lives, everyone across the universe, you can’t-”

“I don’t know those people,” she says, jerking to her feet and crossing to him, her eyes fierce looking up at him. “They’re just faceless mist. You’re...you’re _you_ , Vizh. I can’t destroy something that’s part of you.”

“I’m dangerous,” he says, and she shakes her head. “I _am_. I’m a weapon. You should eliminate me.”

“You’re a _person_ ,” she insists, and he glances away from her. “Don’t make me do this. I...the way I feel about you, I could never destroy you. I _can’t_.”

“I wouldn’t ask if there was another option,” he promises, and she’s crying, the flare of anger in her eyes losing the battle against the flow of tears. There’s a hard lump in his throat, a constricting band around his voice, strangling his syllables. “This is the only way. It has to be you.” He cups her hands in his, seeing her knuckles bruised and bloodied from the fight and the falls, and presses a soft kiss to each palm. “I want it to be you.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, blinking up at him, further tears spilling down her cheeks, catching in her eyelashes.

“If my life has to end,” he says, and holds her tighter when she winces, tries to move away, turns her face away from his. “Wanda, look at me.” Her eyes are filled with tears, her lip quivering, and he swallows thickly before he says, “If my life has to end, I want it to be at your hands. No one else’s. I want you to be the last thing I know in this world.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she says over the hitch of a sob, high-pitched and fragmented. “I’ve had to say so many goodbyes. I want you to stay with me. Please.”

“If it was possible, darling, I would stay,” he says, and she sobs, pulling a hand from his to clasp over her mouth and muffle the awful, heartbreaking sounds she’s making. “To have had what we have...what you’ve given me...I’m happy to leave the world when I can go with these memories.”

She stares up at him for a moment, swiping her hand beneath her eyes to wipe away the freshly-fallen tears. Then she pulls both hands from his, and he watches her fingers dip to unbutton her jeans, lowering the zip with a soft sound that seems to echo, pushing them down over her hips. “Wanda-”

“Just be with me,” she says softly, and takes his face between her hands, gazing up at him and shortening his breath. “Be close to me. Let us have this.”

When she leans up to kiss him, he kisses back, tasting the warmth of her breath as she opens her mouth, sliding his hands beneath her cardigan and feeling her wriggle as she drops it from her shoulders, reaching up for the fastenings on his cape and letting it fall in a wash of gold. Her fingers tracing the lines of his face, and every time she breathes it still hitches, he can still feel her skin damp with tears, but when she breaks the kiss there’s only concern in her eyes. “Can I take this off without hurting you?” she asks, running her hand down his chest, her gaze flickering between his eyes and the wound in his chest.

“Just do it,” he says, and the slight silk of a smirk shadows the corners of her mouth, and she weaves red into the fabric of his suit to lower the hidden zip, her fingers so gentle pulling the thick material away from his injuries, wincing when he does.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes when he hisses in pain, and kisses him sweetly. “I’m sorry.” A kiss on his cheek, light as a feather. “I’m sorry.” The hollow of his neck, her lips warm. “I’m sorry.” Her mouth over his heart, just above the wound.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he promises, and she shakes her head, tears in her eyes.

“I should’ve seen them coming,” she says. “I could’ve protected you then.” Her fingertips ghost over the wound, never touching, and she hiccups out a sob. “I got distracted.”

“We’re all prone to distraction,” he says, and she just shakes her head, and he cups a hand to her cheek and wipes away a tear before it can fall. “I don’t blame you for this, darling.”

“Be with me,” she breathes, and pulls his hands down to the hem of her shirt. He pulls it over her head as gently as he can, trying not to tug on her hair, and when she’s free she kisses him, pushing his suit down over his waist and hips. He covers her fingers with his, helps her, and when he can step out of his suit and leave it in a crumpled heap he takes her into his arms and lifts her across the room, back to the bed.

She’s so warm, so soft, so much in his arms, and he wants to memorise all of her. The lemon scent of her hair, the strands sifting like fire through his fingers, how green her eyes are around her pupils wide and dark with desire, her trembling as he touches her, the goosebumps rising in the wake of his exploring fingers. Her body is familiar, the flatness of her stomach, the muscles he can feel in her thighs, her feet so cold he starts when they brush his back.

With her tangled tight as a vine around him, he gropes to find the mattress behind him and sink onto it, occupied kissing her, her lips full on his, her tongue brushing over the seam between his lips, her fingertips pressing into the back of his neck. She tilts their foreheads together and softly breaks the kiss, breathes, “Against the headboard,” and he does his best to seamlessly obey her without having to stop them touching.

She reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra, and he groans softly seeing her, even though he’s memorised her, lifting his hands to carefully caress her, enjoying the way her breathing grows harsher and she arches into his touch. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, and she traces her hands down his chest, lingering at his vibranium edges.

“So are you,” she breathes, and her hand slips down, wraps gently around him, and he groans, shifting instinctively into her touch. “I love being with you, Vizh. When we’re together, like this, I...it’s everything. _You’re_  everything.”

He kisses her, whines softly against her mouth when her hand starts to move, stroking him until he’s so hard his head spins, whispers her name into the kiss. And she smiles oh so slightly when she pulls away, takes his hand and lowers them down the gentle curve of her spine to the waistband of her underwear. “I wanna be close to you,” she whispers, voice remarkably steady, and he nods dumbly. “Be with me, Vision.”

“ _Yes_ ,” he promises, and slides her underwear down, and she presses herself against him, every inch of them that can touch touching, and when she leans her forehead against he forces his eyes stay open as she sinks onto him. To watch every flicker of her face, the moment her lips part, the creases at the corners of her eyes when they screw closed, her cheeks flushing hectically. Memorising every detail, every moment, _her_.

His hands linger at the small of her back, and she gently moves them to her hips, adjusting herself in his lap and sending sparks down his spine. “Is this okay?” she asks, and he nods. “I’m not too heavy? I’m not hurting you?”

“Just move,” he says, breathless with want, and she smiles slightly and presses into a kiss, and he groans against her mouth, feeling every inch of her. Her hands pressing against the back of his head, pulling him hard against her mouth as their kiss gets dirtier, her tongue tracing eagerly along the back of his teeth. The way her body moves with his, her hips grinding against him, her nipples hard against his chest, and he slides his hands up over her sweat-slick stomach to cup over her breasts, her skin soft and warm, and she tosses her head back and moans his name.

“Keep touching me,” she breathes, and he does. Tracing his fingers over her skin, her body a map he knows by heart, tracing every spot that makes her breath stutter, everywhere that can pull his name from her lips. She’s beautiful, flushed and hot and eager against him, pulling him to kiss her and dragging his hands back to her breasts, moaning when he circles a thumb around her nipple. “Like that, _yes_.”

Her pleasure is beautiful to watch. He’s the only one to have ever seen her like this, felt her like this, seen the flush in her face spilling down her neck and over her collarbones. To be inside her, nothing between them, forgetting the pain of his wound and the ache of the mind stone, only knowing her. Even when her hand brushes his wound by mistake and he grunts in pain, another jolt of agony glitching through him in a flicker of gold like he’s phasing, turning him harder for a moment, more solid, the way he does to block blows in combat.

She hisses sharply, her nails digging into his sides below his ribs, and he cups her face between his hands, putting all his energy into rebalancing his density. “I’m so sorry, darling, I can’t control it,” he says at another pulse from the wound, seemingly responding to his heartbeat quickening and his core temperature rising with arousal. “Did I hurt you?”

A kiss dropped sweetly on his lips, and she says, “You could never hurt me.” The curl of a smirk at the corner of her kiss-swollen lips, and she whispers, “It feels good.”

He kisses her, traces his mouth down her neck and over her collarbones to taste the salt-slick of sweat on her skin, to feel the way her fingers tighten against the back of his neck when he kisses her breasts, her body straining towards his lips, and she jerks him down to trace his tongue around her nipple, gasping out his name. It’s taking willpower to hold back now, when another pulse runs through him and she cries out, her hips jerking faster, and he lifts his head and asks, “What do you need?”

“Promise me something,” she says insistently, and he nods, too far gone to refuse, too caught up in the rhythm of her hips, at the indescribable feeling of being impossibly closer, too aware of the white-hot feeling building at the base of his spine. “Promise me you won’t ever ask me to hurt you.”

“Wanda-”

“ _Promise_  me, Vizh,” she says, her eyes wide and dark gazing into his, and he’s helpless, lost in her. “Right now.”

“I...” He stares at her, at the sheen on her lips and the sadness in her eyes and the hectic red of her cheeks, and pulls her close, their lips almost touching. “I can’t promise that.”

“Then lie to me,” she snaps. “Promise me this will all be okay. That we’ll be together. We’ll go back to somewhere in Europe, with sun and sand and no one who knows us. I’ll stay. I’ll stay with you.”

“Wanda, darling...you’re upsetting yourself.” She shakes her head, but there are tears in her eyes, and he tucks her hair gently behind her ear. “Be with me, Wanda. Right here. Give me something to remember.”

Her lips on his, her body moving desperately against his, and she whispers, “You’re _everything_  to me.” Words punch him in the chest, crying out to be said, and he clutches her close, and she moans his name, moving faster and faster. “Vizh, _oh_ , I...I... _fuck_ , Vizh, I... _Vizh_!”

Her head snaps back when she comes, he feels the grinding rhythm of her letting go, holds her tight to him while she whispers his name over and over, like breathing. “I adore you,” she says softly, and moves to kiss his neck, her hand covering the wound in his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

“ _Wanda_.” Her smile is what he sees when the white fades from his world, and he surges to kiss her, and she’s wrapped around him, he can hardly tell where she ends and he begins, their minds entwined, contentment a glow between them. “I adore you too,” he breathes when he can speak again.

She unravels herself from around him, and he slumps down onto the pillows, cradling her when she crawls up to lie against his chest. They’re still naked, both slick with sweat, their breathing harsh in the silence, and he’s running his fingers softly through her hair. “Is that what you want?” he asks, and she tilts her head up to blink questioning eyes at him. “To stay with me?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, quietly fierce. “Always. Forever.”

Silence holds for a long moment before he finally says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” she insists, curling herself tighter into him. “Just...lie here with me. Forget everything else. Pretend we’re the only two people in the world.”

“It feels like that when I’m with you,” he says, and she smiles and plants a soft kiss on his chest.

“We can make our own world,” she says, and she sounds distant, dreamy. “Just us. Be together.”

He feels her breathing change when she drifts into sleep, and his hand stills against her hair, watching her chest softly rise and fall. Though she won’t have much time, he wants to give her what chance she has to stay in dreams. To forget what they’re facing.

And he wants the brief chance to nervously whisper, “I love you,” without her hearing.


End file.
